


Ten Magic Fingers

by GrrraceUnderfire



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Challenge Response, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ouch, Pickpockets, Prisoner of War, Stalag 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: To Newkirk's utter bewilderment, everyone comes to the rescue when he has an owie. Written in response to a prompt by 27twinsister in the angstandhcprompts collection.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Angst and Hurt/Comfort Prompts





	Ten Magic Fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [27twinsister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27twinsister/pseuds/27twinsister) in the [angstandhcprompts](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/angstandhcprompts) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Any fandom!  
> Character A gets mildly hurt (scraped their knee, got a paper cut, have a headache, small things) and other characters find out they’re hurt and completely overreact.  
> Bonus if they other characters aren’t physically there and all they can do is frantically text/call asking if A is okay.

It was mail call at Stalag 13, and inside Barracks 2, poor Sergeant Schultz was being mobbed. That is, until Corporal Newkirk intervened.

“Back off, you lot. Let poor ol’ Schultzie deliver the post. Here, Schultz, let me help you with that.” Newkirk grabbed the stack of mail from Schultz's hand. But as Carter jostled him, the edge of an envelope sliced his finger.

“Ow!” Newkirk shouted, dropping a pile of letters on the floor and sticking his finger in his mouth.

“Oh, gee whiz, Newkirk, I’m so sorry,” Carter said, his blue eyes growing wider than usual. “Are you OK, buddy?”

“Of course I’m OK,” Newkirk said, his words only slightly muffled by the fact that he was still sucking on his finger. “It’s just a paper cut.”

“Just a paper cut,” Colonel Hogan said. “Listen to him, guys. That’s heroism. Newkirk, you’re so brave. We’re proud to have known you.”

Newkirk stared at Colonel Hogan as if he had seven heads. “I’ve had worse, Sir,” he said tentatively.

“Really?” LeBeau put in. “Name one time.”

“Well, there was the time I banged my elbow onto the wall getting out of the shower. You know that pain when you hit your funny bone and it zings straight up your arm? That was much worse than this,” Newkirk said.

“So courageous,” Hogan repeated. “Listen, sit down. No, better yet, lie down. You can use my room. LeBeau, see to it that he is not disturbed. Maybe he can sleep this off.”

LeBeau was hustling Newkirk into Hogan’s room so quickly that Newkirk barely had time to protest, but that didn’t prevent him from trying. “This is ridiculous,” he was shouting over one shoulder as LeBeau saw him to safety. “Cut that out,” he said to LeBeau as he pushed him down into the bunk.

“You can’t be in that germ-infested room. Not with this injury,” LeBeau said, tut-tutting as he pulled off Newkirk’s boots and tucked him into bed. “Rest. I’ll prepare my treatment and I promise you’ll start to show improvement by morning.”

“What do you mean, improvement? I’m fine!” Newkirk shouted, sitting up. LeBeau pushed him back down again. Newkirk rolled his eyes dramatically and swore.

“Stay,” LeBeau said with a warning in his tone. “I’ll be back in a moment with my grandmother’s cure.”

“A cure for a bloody papercut? What was your grandmother, a bleeding tree surgeon?”

“ _Quoi_?” LeBeau asked. His brows were deeply furrowed with worry.

“Oh for God’s sakes. Paper comes from wood pulp, which comes from trees. It’s a joke. I admit, it’s not my best.”

“Colonel Hogan, come in here,” LeBeau called out urgently. “I think he’s taken a turn for the worse.”

The Colonel bustled into his office, looking frantic. “What? What happened?”

“I’m afraid he’s delirious. He thinks my grandmother was _un… un arboriculteur_.” He burst into tears. “Why is he thinking of my dear, departed _grand-mère_?”

Colonel Hogan wrapped a comforting arm around LeBeau, but his eyes never left the frail figure lying on the bed. “It must be sepsis,” he whispered. “Go, prepare the treatment.” He flung an arm across his eyes. “I’ll look after him.”

Hogan sat by the bed and took Newkirk’s _other_ hand. “Is it very painful?” he asked solicitously.

“It doesn’t hurt at all, actually,” Newkirk said as he yanked his hand way. "And I've been meaning to tell you, stop touching me so much! Now, what is going on?”

“Typical,” Hogan said over his shoulder as Sergeant Kinchloe entered the room carrying a Christmas tree and some presents. “So valiant. So self-effacing.”

Kinch set the Christmas regalia down, nodded and bit his knuckles to prevent an outpouring of emotion. He shook slightly as he left the room.

“What the bloody hell are those for?” Newkirk bellowed as Kinch departed. “And where did you get a Christmas tree and presents in August?”

“Oh, dear boy,” Hogan said, shaking his head sadly. “We’re in Germany. It’s always winter.” He choked back a sob as he added, “We wanted you to have one… last… memorable…” He couldn’t go on without a deep intake of breath. “Christmas!” he finally let out, forcing himself to be strong.

LeBeau suddenly reappeared at the door. “Grand-mère’s remedy is here,” he said with as much cheer as he could muster. “Mint tea, aloe vera, petroleum jelly, and nail polish.”

“Nail polish?” Newkirk and Hogan said in unison.

“Oui. It seals the wound, and if we have enough time, you’ll have lovely pink finger and toenails when you meet your …” LeBeau gasped, unable to say the word.

“You’re not putting any of that stuff on me,” Newkirk said, sitting up and getting onto his feet. Hogan and LeBeau were pushing him back down when Carter arrived, with Sergeant Wilson in tow.

“Where is the patient?” Wilson asked. “How is he?”

By this time, LeBeau was slathering on the tea and aloe vera and gently rubbing it into Newkirk’s finger.

“He’s right here, and he can answer his own bleeding questions!” Newkirk protested as he tried unsuccessfully to tug his hand away from LeBeau. But Wilson went on talking past him to Colonel Hogan.

“Fever?”

“He seems warm to me,” Colonel Hogan said. “Look at his flushed cheeks.”

“That’s because I’m bleeding furious!” Newkirk said.

“Delirium?”

“Oh, yes,” Hogan and LeBeau said together.

“Hm. It could be septic shock,” Wilson said.

“The only shock I’m experiencing is that you’re all making a gigantic fuss over a tiny little wound. I mean, it didn’t even bleed!” Newkirk shouted.

“How do you know it didn’t bleed?” Hogan asked. “Maybe it bled when you had that finger in your mouth.”

“LeBeau would be flat on his arse if it bled, that’s how I know,” Newkirk snarled.

“Oh, _mon pote_ , please be kind or tomorrow I will be too emotionally fragile to prepare the garlic and olive oil rub I have planned for you,” LeBeau spoke gently. “Phase two of the treatment,” he told Wilson as an aside.

“Wait,” Wilson said. “Wait. Did you say what I thought you said, Colonel Hogan? Did you say…”

“He had his finger in his mouth,” Carter supplied. “Yes, he did, Wilson. I wanted to say something, because you know how many bacteria are in the human mouth? Somewhere between 800 and 1,000, and it’s warm and wet in there, the perfect environment for cell reproduction.”

“Reproduction?” Newkirk said, sounding simultaneously alarmed and disgusted. He looked at his finger with newfound concern.

“I need these fingers,” he said softly. “I’m a pickpocket, a safecracker, a magician, and a card sharp. You don’t think I could…”

“Lose a finger? Oh, heck, yeah, Newkirk, there are documented cases of that happening after papercuts," Carter said. "You know, it takes a high level of pressure to cut the skin. Usually we see this happen with brand new sheets of paper out of a ream, when a single sheet gets dislocated from the rest, and the other sheets are holding it in place so it’s stiff enough to act as a razor? And then you end up stimulating so many skin surface nociceptors in such a small area. Well, anyway, my cousin Jimmy in Ottumwa—that’s in Iowa, the Wapello County seat? He lost two toes after getting his arm stuck in the mailbox for six hours on a winter night.”

“What does that have to do with papercuts?” Newkirk said incredulously.

“I’m not sure. I kind of got lost. Now open your Christmas present,” Carter said.

Kinch brought the present across the room to Newkirk. He unwrapped it as well as he could with one hand and found inside a brand new deck of cards. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Will I ever get to use them?” he asked Wilson pitifully. He was starting to worry now. Everyone was so very concerned.

“I don’t know,” Wilson said. “What do you fellas think?”

“I think Newkirk should get the hell out of bed and stop goldbricking,” Kinch said with a grin.

“Yeah, and next time you cut yourself, don’t put your finger in your mouth,” Carter said. “In fact, don’t ever put your finger in your mouth, OK? Because that place is a sewer.”

“I’m done coddling you,” LeBeau said, yanking the covers off Newkirk. “Put on your own socks and boots and get up and help me peel potatoes.”

“With this finger?” Newkirk cried.

“This ‘magic finger’?” Hogan said mockingly. “Yes. We’re sick and tired of hearing about your precious magic fingers and all the amazing things they do for us.”

“And for the female of the species,” LeBeau muttered.

“Ewww,” Carter said. “Don’t go there. This was such a nice clean story until now.”

“Listen, Newkirk,” Hogan said. “Your fingers are very nice. Excellent fingers. Very skilled. But it’s not your magic fingers that help us out on mission after mission.”

“Well, what is it, then?” Newkirk asked, bewildered.

“It’s the fact that you’re a crook,” Hogan said. “Duh.”

The rest of the team enjoyed a good-natured round of laughter. Newkirk did not join in.

“Oh. Well. I see how it is. Go ahead, enjoy your little joke,” he said as he got to his feet and found his boots and socks. He winced slightly as he irritated the paper cut, but bravely covered up his pain.

He stood and faced his former friends as they cackled at him like hyenas.

“I don’t care what you say,” Newkirk said haughtily. “You’d be sorry if you didn’t have Peter Newkirk’s ten magic fingers around to do all the dirty little jobs no one else wants to do. Swiping, stealing, dipping into pockets where I have no business being… I do it all and more with my little friends here,” he said, wiggling his fingers in the air. “You lot should be ashamed of yourselves, tricking me like this. Making me think you cared.”

Newkirk marched out of the room and pulled the door shut. Then, deciding that a bit more of a dramatic exit was in order, he pushed it back open and slammed it much, much harder.

Right on the three middle fingers of his right hand.

There was a scream, there was blood and there was disfigurement. “Two of them are definitely broken,” Wilson said as he inspected the damage. “And you’re going to need stitches on that one,” he told Newkirk.

Newkirk sat stoically as Wilson stitched him up and set the broken bones. Then he cast a glance over at Colonel Hogan, who was in a huddle with LeBeau, Kinch and Carter.

Hesitantly, Hogan came to his side. “How’s it going, Newkirk?” he asked.

“How do you _think_ it’s going? It bleeding well hurts,” Newkirk replied, cautiously adding, “Sir.”

“Good, good, that’s good. Hey listen, could you do me a favor?”

Newkirk looked at Hogan in astonishment, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“Could you teach Carter how to pick a pocket and LeBeau how to crack a safe? Tonight?”

“What? That’s impossible!” Newkirk protested.

“Well, we have this mission tomorrow night, and we were really counting on your ten magic fingers,” Hogan said.

“Mmm,” Newkirk replied. “Were you, now?”

“Yes,” Hogan said. There was no point saying more at the moment.

“It’s going to cost you, Sir.” He looked at his friends. “All of you.”

Hogan looked at the rest of the team as they squirmed, dipped their heads, and bit their lips. Then he looked back at Newkirk. “Yeah, we get that. Name your price.”

“I think I’d really like to take LeBeau up on that manicure and pedicure,” Newkirk said.

Everyone was startled by the request, but they did their best to hide it. “Oh, _certainement_ ,” LeBeau said. “As soon as your hand has healed.”

“Oh, _mon ami_ , your misunderstand,” Newkirk said. “Not for me. For all of you chaps. Pink finger and toenails. Every day until these three magic fingers have joined the other seven and returned to the pink of health.”

He grinned like a Cheshire cat as his friends turned seven shades of red. Game, Newkirk. 


End file.
